A Cascade of Musical Silver
by cagd
Summary: Spike and Dru, business as usual in Dallas, Texas 1982.


_Dallas, Texas, 1982_

It was times like these, when Drusilla was goofy enough to make a hash of whatever complicated scheme he was juggling, that Spike wished the old-fashioned push roller mowers hadn't been rendered obsolete by the gas powered ones. Back in '42, while pulling a job defrauding Eastman Kodak at their Rochester, NY company headquarters, Spiked presented Drusilla with one to keep her out from under foot, telling her that if she made the little cage of blades whirl around enough times, the magic pixie that lived in it would grant her every wish even as he aimed her toward the nearest golf course.

So what if by the time Spike found her three nights later, Drusilla was in the outskirts of Buffalo, the blades were scarred nubs, and various county road crews had nothing to mow on either side of the long toll-road linking Rochester to Buffalo? It got the job done!

Anyway, no use moaning after the past, Spike thought while rummaging through the pockets of his duster as Drusilla whirled and pirouetted around their stolen executive hotel suite singing something about lambs, lions and weed whackers in a reedy falsetto. As far as Spike was concerned, the past could go hang - it was full of embarrassing failures and at least one dead blood relative... now where'd he put it? Spike pulled out a few grubby dog racing forms, a steel lighter (empty) engraved with "Fuck Communism!", two feathered roach clips (bent), and a packet of Sen Sen (dating back to 1945 judging by the packaging)... five street car tokens (bent), a lead slug (well worn)... a laundry ticket from Dusseldorf (for a suit he kept forgetting to pick up dated 1955)... two spare heads for Miss Edith (one blonde, one brunette...), an autographed syringe from Sid Vicious (fake), and a... now, where the bloody Hell...

By now, Drusilla was standing atop the large console television taking her clothes off. Normally this would have meant sweaty fun and games, but not tonight: Spike had the threads of four different cons converging into one shared knot which would end with all parties involved too busy killing each other to notice that he and Dru had disappeared with the boodle...

Ah... there it was! Spike blew lint and cigarette ashes off the battered little box he'd retrieved before pulling something out of it which was long, silvery and gave off a soft zinging noise as he lightly tossed it from hand to hand.

"Dru, pet, look what I've got..." Spike cooed holding up what he'd found so that Drusilla could clearly see it as she swing naked by her knees from the brass ceiling fan, singing about antelopes and chainsaws. "Pretty, isn't it?"

Slowly spinning from the now smoking fan, Drusilla looked away, pouting.

Spike shook it lightly so that it undulated, still giving off a soft tinkling sound.

Drusilla's eyes dragged her head round and round so that they could stare greedily at Spikes treasure as she spun. Spike jingled it again.

Drusilla's face twisted indecisively – jingle-jingle - before she flipped mid-air and landed on the thick Aubusson carpet with her hands out, "Give it! Give it to _us_, William! Give it! Give it, NOW!"

"Manners, _pet_, manners! Whats the _magic_ word?" Trapping Drusilla's gaze with what he held, Spike maneuvered her towards the bathroom, "Must use the magic word pet, or Sweet William won't let his Black Opal have the pretty toy!" There, Spike eased the door open with his foot, that should to do it...

Drusilla snatched at what he held; Spike pulled it out of reach barely in time, still juggling, "What's the magic word, pet, what's the magic word? Can't give it to you without the magic word!"

Drusilla paused, dark eyes glittering, "Magic word?" even as she gave him a coy, sidelong glance, long fingers entwined behind her back.

"Rhymes with _'peas_", pet."

"Please?"

"And the lady gets the prize!" Spike crowed, tossing the toy into the large bathroom, where it landed on the edge of the big black sunken marble tub only to fall coil by coil into the bottom. Giggling, Drusilla streaked past him, hands out and ready to grab.

Spike quickly slammed the door behind her, locked it and pocketed the key before opening a window to let out the smoke pouring from the fan, which was now dangling from a single wire. He then swaggered into the mahogany and leather conference room, whistling through a gap in his teeth, fists jammed deep into his duster pockets - a proper night's work it'd be if the rest of his plans fell into place as neatly as the Slinky had landed in the edge of the tub where Drusilla now rested, eyes reflecting its silvery coils as they slithered past her in a cascade of musical silver.


End file.
